Knight Defender (Knight Chronicles) Page 6

  Jessamyn fumbled with the latch, but soon she was inside, stroking the mare’s sleek, white coat and checking her for any sign of injury or maltreatment.

  “You seem to be well enough, my friend.” Jessamyn laid her cheek against the mare’s neck.

  Persia tilted her ears, snorted, and shook her head, dislodging Jessamyn and forcing her to stand aside, as if to say, “I’m busy eating. Do not bother me.”

  Jessamyn searched for, and found, a brush. “Very well, your highness. Enjoy your breakfast. I’m sure you will not mind if I brush the dust from you. I know how much you dislike being dirty.”

  “Are ye daft, lass?”

  Heart racing, Jessamyn leapt and turned all in one movement, placing herself defensively between Persia and the man who’d spoken from just outside the stall.

  A craggy-faced fellow—as tall and gangly as Margery was petite and round—studied Jess. Lively curiosity sparkled in pale blue eyes under thick, raised gray brows.

  “I spent a good long while cleaning that wee, pretty lady.” He gestured at Persia.

  Jess’s heart steadied as he spoke.

  “Even combed her mane and started to braid it,” he said. “Then down she goes, rolling herself around in the fresh straw I’d laid for her. Wallowed like a pig until that lovely white coat was yellow wi’ dust. Looked like a daisy she did, all yellow in her middle wi’ that shining white on her belly, legs, and head.”

  Jessamyn laughed. She could not be cold or rude to someone who so clearly loved horses and understood them, too. “I was having a jest with Persia, for I know only too well how much she loves a dust bath, especially right after I’ve spent a good long while, as you say, cleaning her up. I swear she does it just to have me brush her clean again, for she certainly did not beleaguer my father’s stable lads that way.”

  The man’s eyes brightened. “So ye tend yer own steed, do ye?”

  “Whenever I can.” Jessamyn turned back to brushing Persia. “’Tis only right to treat her with the care and courtesy she gives me.”

  The man nodded and pursed his lips. “Happen she plays that dusty bath trick on ye, cause like me, ye’ve got the right touch wi’ the brush and comb.” He moved into the stall, took a position on Persia’s opposite side and set to combing snarls from the mare’s mane.

  “Happen she may. Persia’s very clever.”

  He nodded. “Aye, Lady Du Grace. ’Tis easy to see that.”

  “Please call me Jessamyn. I never stand on ceremony with a man who loves horses as I do.”

  He tugged his forelock. “Thankee, yer ladyship … I mean, Jessamyn. I’m Angus MacEich, t’ baron’s steudmarcaiche.”

  She cocked her head in question.

  “Ye dinna understand me. The English would say master of the horse. Though ’tis naught to be marcaiche of these days at Dungarob.” A touch of sorrow colored his voice and a wistful look dimmed his gaze.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ye see th’ empty stalls all around us?”

  She nodded. “I thought the other horses out somewhere being ridden.”

  “Bain’t no other horses, no MacKai horses. Even the steeds owned by our knights are no enough to fill a quarter of this stable. Save for th’ baron’s courser, which ’tis really his youngest sister’s, and two mounts—no better’n cart nags—shared by his sisters, th’ MacKai stables are empty and have been so these last ten years.”

  “Why?” Jessamyn blinked, but her hand remained gentle as she finished brushing Persia then joined Angus in braiding the mare’s mane. “The MacKai stables are famous. Even in England their destriers and coursers are highly prized. I imagined my father arranged the match between me and the baron just so he and my godfather could acquire some MacKai breeding stock.”

  “Du Grace. Aye, I should have recognized the name. Yer da has been trying to get his hands on one of our studs since before ye were born, but th’ old baron—the present man’s father—was too canny to let any of the breeding stock out of MacKai control.”

  “Then how … ?”

  “Treachery, ’tis how.” The horse master’s hands stilled, and he studied Jessamyn with narrowed eyes. Then nodding to himself, he continued. “Th’ lyin’, thievin’ Earl of Strathnaver stole what belonged to th’ MacKai clan. Divil take him.” Angus spat. “’Tis no sin to be glad the old earl and his heir are dead. ’Tis the younger son, Colin, now wed to our own sweet Sorcha, who is earl. We’ve all great hopes for the peace between MacKai and Strathnaver. Though it hasna helped us get our horses back.”

  “Was the earl the baron’s overlord?” Perhaps fealty had demanded more than the baron wished to give.

  “Nae.” Angus shook his head. “’Tis no like that here in the Highlands. Each man owns his own and shares as he can when there’s need. But th’ earl had plenty of horses and no need to steal or kill to get more, especially from a man he called friend.”

  Jessamyn frowned. “Are you saying that under the guise of friendship this earl killed the present baron’s father and stole his livelihood?”

  Angus looked her in the eye.

  “’Tis just what I’m saying. Lamed fair Sorcha, th’ present baron’s eldest sister, too, when her da refused a marriage contract between her and th’ earl’s older son, Brice. Th’ earl was determined, and when he couldna get what he wanted by fair means or trickery, he turned to murder and thieving. ’Tis why the MacKai needs yer dowry, t’ say naught of the surprise gift this lovely lady is.” He patted the mare’s neck and scratched the base of an ear. “Ye give our Raeb a bairn or two, and the clan will be well on its way back to what it once was.”

  Jessamyn felt her cheeks heat. She thanked heaven for the poor light in the stable. Still, she was not afraid to speak her mind. “Your baron is unlikely to receive dowry, mare, or children from me given the manner in which I’ve been treated.”

  “Heh, heh,” the old fellow chuckled. “I’m no certain what bee th’ MacKai’s gotten int’ his sgrog, but ye pay it no mind.” Angus pulled a handful of oats from a pouch at his belt and fed them to Persia. “Th’ lad will see his mistake soon enough. Then ye’ll discover what a cuirteil cuaras he is.”

  “Cuirteil cuaras?” She wrinkled her brow.

  Angus’s mouth formed a sly grin. “Ye’ll know th’ meaning of that soon enough as well. ’Tis no a lass ‘twixt here and Dundee would refuse Raeb MacKai anything for no more’n a wee smile.”

  Jessamyn said nothing as she put away the comb and brush and helped Angus saddle Persia. Baron MacKai will have to do a lot more than smile to gain my forgiveness. Even then I’ll not allow a charming rogue to steal my dreams. It was a shame he and his clan had troubles, but he’d have to find solutions somewhere else. She would not be denied the chance to live life as she chose it, to breed and train the horses she loved for the benefit of God and the church.

  • • •

  “Tell Lady Jessamyn and my sisters that I regret I am delayed on an urgent matter but will join them at the earliest opportunity.”

  Dougal nodded and left.

  Raeb smiled as he climbed the stairs to the barracks room where Rhuad MacFearann recovered. The man wished to discuss a vital and private matter that he claimed could not wait. That meant Lady Jessamyn would be the one waiting for her betrothed to show up. I wonder if I can prolong my time with Rhuad enough to avoid the lady altogether? No doubt she was used to being first in a man’s attentions. With a bit of luck, she might get angry enough at this discourtesy to reject the betrothal. Then, in good time, she could be sent back to her father, and Dungarob would be well rid of her.

  Raeb didn’t bother knocking but opened the door to find MacFearann standing before a mirror and wiping the last of his shaving soap from his face.

  “So you’re feeling better.”

  “Aye,” agreed Rhuad. He put the cloth aside and returned to his bed. “I’ll be fiddle fit as soon as your dragon of a sister lets me out of this bed. Maeve looks like such a sweet, pliable girl. I wouldna e
xpect a will of iron to hide under such a luscious … ah, er … pleasant exterior.”

  Raeb relaxed the fists he’d clenched to teach MacFearann respect for the MacKai women. Though truth to say, Raeb couldna blame any man for thinking lustful thoughts. His sisters were all lovely, each in her own way. But a wise man didn’t speak of lust for the sister to the brother.

  “What keeps you here? You look capable enough of standing.”

  Rhuad pulled at the nightshirt he wore. “Your sister took my clothes. I don’t suppose you’d lend me some?”

  Raeb eyed the man’s lean, compact body. “Even had I clothing that would fit, I’m too familiar with the consequences of defying Maeve in her role as healer. She’s biddable as can be about almost everything else. Since she succeeds more often than not with healing, I yield to her in this one area.”

  “Then I am condemned to at least one more day of confinement.”

  “’Tis as well. This room is as private as we can get in the barracks. Tell me what message MacBirnum sends.”

  “’Tis no from MacBirnum but from MacTavish.”

  “MacTavish of Argyll? I’ve no met the man.”

  “You are nae like to. He died.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I am telling this badly. I had a message from MacBirnum for Lord Lachlan MacTavish seeking confirmation of the number of men he would send in support of capturing Edward I’s troop ships. I arrived at the MacTavish castle in time for his funeral. So I delivered my message to his heir, Iver.”

  “And what did this Iver say?”

  “He said he would double his father’s promise of forty men.”

  Raeb frowned. “’Tis scarce enough men for a battle with warriors hardened in the Welsh wars. However ’twill be sufficient if the other clans can send the same. Does he lead his men, and when do they plan to arrive?”

  “He wouldna say. No until his conditions were accepted.”

  “Conditions! What kind of young fool places conditions on the protection of Scotland?”

  Rhuad raised his brows. “He’s no younger than you, though a great deal more arrogant.”

  “You think I’m arrogant?”

  A smile spread on MacFearann’s face. “I dinna think it.”

  “Well then, what … ”

  “I know it.”

  Raeb felt his brain about to burst. “I offer you a roof, care for your wounds, and all due courtesy, yet you insult me.”

  “’Tis no insult if ’tis true.” Rhuad raised a palm. “Hear me out. You get away with your arrogance because more often than no you are right. When you are no, your sisters put you in your place quickly. Also, you dinna hold a grudge when your manner causes trouble.”

  Raeb grinned and looked Rhuad in the eye. “Nicely said. I will admit to a healthy helping of self worth, but I dinna allow it to misguide me. Whether the same is true of Iver MacTavish or no remains to be seen. What are his conditions?”

  Rhuad swallowed then fixed his gaze with Raeb. “He wants a wife.”

  “And I’m supposed to provide him one?”

  The bastard son of the most hated man in Scotland simply looked at Raeb. “No just any wife. He wants one of the seven MacKai jewels.”

  “He wants one of my sisters? Did he say which one? If he wants Sorcha, ’tis no possible.”

  Rhuad shook his head. “MacTavish dinna say which one. What he did say was that if you accept his terms, he will arrive with his men two weeks before midsummer—when the troop ships are expected. At that time, he’ll, ah, inspect your sisters and chose the one he prefers.”

  “Inspect? He’d treat noble ladies like cattle? I’ll cut his balls off before I’ll let him lay a finger on any of my sisters.”

  “‘Inspect’ was his term, Raeb, no mine. I doubt he expects to check their teeth or their soundness.”

  “Aye, if he’s as arrogant as you say, he probably doesna choose his words with care. If all he wants is to meet them and talk with them before proposing, I’ll allow it, but only if my sisters are willing.”

  “So you’re going to ask them, no tell them?”

  “Aye.”

  “You do understand that MacTavish wants a guarantee of marriage to the sister of his choice before he’ll take one step beyond Argyll?”

  “Aye. But I’ll no force any of my sisters into marriage.” Sorcha had been compelled to wed once and had nearly met with disaster. Raeb thrust a hand through his hair. “I must speak with them and ask if any are willing.”

  “You canna explain why.”

  “Of a certainty I canna. However, I can plead a debt owed that MacTavish is willing to forgive in exchange for a wife. If they press for more than that, I’ll say I promised no to speak of the conditions of the debt. My sisters have honor and will understand keeping a promise.”

  Rhuad shrugged. “’Tis your skin and your sisters.”

  Raeb walked to the door then paused and looked back at Rhuad. “Once I’ve spoken with my siblings, will you carry the message for me to MacTavish?”

  “Since you’ve guaranteed to find me passage to the Isle of Witches, ’tis the least I can do.”

  “Tomorrow morning, I’ll let you know what to tell MacTavish. I want to give my sisters as much time as I can to consider their answers. But for now, ’tis past time I go in search of my betrothed.”

  Rhuad nodded. “Until the morrow.”

  Raeb took the stairs at a much slower pace. Those eighty MacTavish warriors would tip the balance in Scotland’s favor when the battle with Edward’s troops came. But at what cost? He certainly couldn’t order any of his sisters to sacrifice themselves to a man of unknown character. He didn’t even want to ask it of them. An arranged marriage between friendly clans was one thing. But this? He could only pray all would turn out well.

  • • •

  After her talk with Angus, Jessamyn left the stable, Persia in tow, to find Maeve, Dougal, and Artis mounted and waiting for her. Of Raeb MacKai there was no sign. A tiny clutch of disappointment annoyed her. She would not waste a moment thinking about that man. Her goals would be achieved that much easier if he were not present.

  “Is Baron MacKai not joining us?” she asked of the group.

  Maeve and Dougal were so absorbed in looking at each other that they failed to note her approach or her question.

  “Raeb sends his regrets, Jessamyn,” Artis announced. “He said to tell you an urgent matter has arisen.”

  “Hmmm.” As excuses went it was sufficient enough not to be considered rude, but she had to wonder if this was not his true purpose, to make her believe he was finally going to play the suitor when all along he’d intended to avoid her. She shrugged and surveyed the horses. His plots could not matter to her, especially when her own plans were furthered.

  Dougal’s destrier was a fine animal and, from its stillness, quite well trained. The other two mounts were some of the most disreputable looking horseflesh she’d ever seen. They had to be cart horses, which confirmed what she had learned from Angus.

  Was Baron Raeb MacKai the sort of man to sacrifice his stables to help impoverished villagers? She’d not had enough experience of him to know, but the possibility that he was normally kind and considerate roused her suspicions about his treatment of her and his motives for ordering his household to be rude. More and more his discourtesy seemed out of character. She wanted her curiosity satisfied, and since she would not be able to ask him directly, she’d ask his sisters and Dougal.

  “Let us be off then.” She smiled at Artis. “I am certain you will be excellent guides.”

  A young boy led Persia to the mounting block and assisted Jessamyn into the saddle. The horse was smaller than most coursers, leading many to mistake her for no more than a gentle palfrey.

  “Maeve, Dougal,” Artis called their names sharply. “Jessamyn is ready.”

  Two heads lifted and turned startled gazes to their guest.

  “I’m sorry,” said Maeve. “I was … ah … distracted.”
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  “Please forgive my neglect, my lady.” Dougal bowed his head and doffed his cap. “I am concerned that the MacKai has no chosen to share the nature of this urgent matter with me.”

  They set their horses in motion with the two sisters in front.

  “I gather the matter arose very recently. Is the baron normally more thoughtful when not pressed for time?”

  “Aye. ’Tis a verra thoughtful man, he is,” admitted the captain of the guard. “A mite too thoughtful sometimes.”

  More evidence that Raeb MacKai was not the man he showed himself to be with her. “Then perhaps the baron needs time to consider his possible options before seeking your counsel.”

  Dougal met her gaze and gave a small smile. “I am sure that must be it, but please pardon my preoccupation. I shall no be content until I know what trouble has arisen. Meanwhile, let us endeavor to distract Maeve and Artis, for they too worry much about their brother.”

  “Indeed, Baron MacKai appears more than capable of handling any crisis, and his sisters’ anxiety would trouble him. If I knew more, I might be better able to steer the conversation in a direction that would avoid stress.”

  “That would be helpful, Lady Du Grace, but you ken as much of this latest matter as I.”

  “Well enough.” Jessamyn sighed. “Let me see what I can do to distract Artis. I shall leave Maeve to you.”

  She trotted forward until she rode beside the two sisters and engaged them in discussion of the route they would take. They told her the holding was large enough that several days’ ride was required to cover the entire property. Thus today they would travel the coastline as much as possible, saving the interior for later.

  Eventually, Maeve dropped back to ride with Dougal. Jessamyn smiled inwardly. The couple was so obviously besotted with each other; they would ignore her and Artis for most of the day. Jessamyn could safely question the younger girl about the MacKai holding and its baron without fear of any interference.

  “The Dungarob coastline is very dramatic and quite beautiful,” Jessamyn remarked. They traveled a well-worn path along the top of a low cliff, the crash of waves on the shore a reminder of how close the sea lay.